Independence without Loneliness
by Sephielya J. Maxwell
Summary: When the Canada Act of 1982 was put into place, Matthew felt as if the final string connecting him to Arthur had been snapped. Arthur himself is feeling a bit of trepidation, but they find a common ground that will not change between them.


Please don't be offended if I got some of this history wrong. I tried very hard to research for this, but I know it's probably not flawless. Let's just pretend I got everything right. –Innocent whistle.- This was a commission for someone on DA. If you're interested in commissioning me go to my DA.

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Matthew had been independent in many ways for years now. Left alone for long periods of time, he took care of himself. He spoke with his bosses when he was considered old enough, which happened soon after Alfred's rebellion, and discussed important things with them. His house made decisions that were equal to what Matthew should make himself for dinner—the technical details of basic needs. They could sustain themselves. But whenever there were changes to be made, Matthew had to look elsewhere.

The Canadian nation kept his house in the way that Arthur liked it, and he took suggestions about change when they were given. His bosses sought permission from Arthur's for changes to their own constitution for some things, as Matthew came to Arthur about his own questions. It was practically habit. Rare visits had sometimes turned into arguments with Arthur telling Matthew how to handle his own house. Quebec was a hot topic, one that irritated Matthew endlessly. What was it? Ignore and expel his French heritage in favor of the British, or accept it? He'd been punished for it in the past, and now he should be told how to handle his own, who embraced their French heritage.

And oh, the aboriginals! Who was Arthur to talk? But Matthew had held his tongue for so long. Nodded his head and obeyed, like the good son. The one who didn't start a war over taxes, who jumped into war when he was _asked_ to. Matthew stayed beside and obeyed Arthur's word as best as he could. Of course a part of him always envied the attention that his more rebellious brother always received. He used to not mind it when Arthur complained about Alfred. It meant that he was angry at him, bitter over losing him. It meant that Matthew could be the favorite, the least troublesome. But it had quickly become another annoyance, a new way for Alfred to 'win' Matthew's favored person. Matthew never outright said this of course. No, he had much more tact than that—usually.

Alfred had come to call it 'passive-aggressive'. Matthew would hold it all inside until everything would come out at once. He could rant for hours at that time, listing off things that anyone else might have forgotten. It could be something small and insignificant, but if it had irritated him, Matthew would remember it. Perhaps the only one he _hadn't _gone off on was Arthur. He had so very many reasons; he'd never forgotten even the slightest infraction against him.

Arthur wanted to supervise from afar. To keep everyone under his thumb in some way, without directly lording over them anymore. Matthew was independent, but still he felt that stern gaze on his back whenever he made a decision on his own. But Matthew was also sensitive man. He might (secretly) admit to being passive-aggressive, but he was not a bitter person. He knew very well what Arthur really feared, and he didn't know how to fix it.

Arthur had been alone once. Nations could cheat, you see. No past was secret, no terrible event private. The details could be faded and hidden, but the events were all too clear. Arthur had been chased, oppressed, and alone. He'd risen up and fought back, done better than he'd ever imagined. He could remember Francis telling him once of the 'dirty little rabbit' who had turned into a lion. Arthur hated to be reminded of his less than glorious days, and so he concentrated on his achievements. This made him appear arrogant to many—and maybe he was a little. But more than anything Arthur was afraid of losing his grip. Since the World Wars, he'd lost a lot. Before that, he'd lost his golden boy.

Matthew loved Arthur. They were not related by blood like humans were, and he'd never considered Arthur to be his father or older brother, only a mentor. Francis was closer to his papa, but he'd ended the relationship there. Alfred, he was the closest to family, though there were days when he would be offended at the very notion that he was related to his North American 'twin'. With Arthur it was different than it was with any other nation. Quiet and unnoticeable or not, Matthew had gotten offers. It wasn't as if he was the only nation without much say in the workings of the world. The driving forces, the ones that everyone knew were all… well, not Canada. But his name was known to Arthur, and to those who could relate him to his brother (always, they said they preferred Matthew's children over Alfred's when it came to tourists).

So you see, that was why Matthew was nervous. He was sure that many nations before him had been through this very dilemma. How did you tell your mentor, lover, and superior that you wanted to be independent… and still together? He almost wanted to call someone and ask. But few would be able to know _exactly _how he felt. Matthew _did _want to be on his own, he was well enough an adult now no matter that he didn't look a day over nineteen. Cut the apron strings, get up from that perpetual kneel to the throne and _stretch. _But his history with Arthur was one long and complicated vie for attention. The fear was there that he would face rejection. That Arthur might begin to talk with the same bitterness about Matthew that he often did Alfred. He was being paranoid, he knew it. Arthur knew Matthew better than that. The Canadian was loyal to the bone, he respected Arthur. He didn't want to cut all ties; he just wanted the power to make his own choices _completely._ Even human children did that, right?

The Queen was coming today, Elizabeth II. She was going to sign the Constitution Act, and with her of course would come Arthur. She never traveled anywhere without him, he wouldn't stand for it. Matthew liked to think that he was also coming to see him as well, but he had no way of knowing how Arthur would act over this. It wasn't as if Canada wouldn't still be in the Commonwealth, but he had to do this.

The first sight was always the most anxiety filled. A glance of green eyes and a slight furrow of those thick brows, but Arthur extended his hand as he came close enough. Matthew took it firmly, as firmly as he could, nearly gripping. But Arthur used that grip to pull the Canadian in, wrapping his left arm around Matthew's shoulders and hugging him tightly. Matthew barely recovered in time to return the embrace, breathing in deeply as he tilted his head slightly towards the Brit's neck. He could feel that heart pounding against his chest, as likely his was against Arthur's. There was no hiding their trepidation from each other. Yes, they were both in a sense the pawns of their bosses, but they were also inclined to believe in the choices of those bosses one-hundred percent.

Matthew was his people, all of them, and the near civil-war within him was hard enough without being able to fully handle it himself. Ceremony, official meetings, everything was a whirlwind of pretty social words and grand statements. Matthew was sure that this was all very important to those involved, but he'd just seen so many of these kinds of events in his life. It was short—that life—in the eyes of so many nations around him. But it was his life, and he never made excuses for his age. He'd been 'discovered', or even 'created' by others. No matter how he had come to be though, he was always his own. Identity a little skewed perhaps, but his own whether or not.

It wasn't until much later than the two had been able to be alone. Because of the location, it was a hotel room instead of Matthew's own residence. But it was all his _home, _wasn't it? He'd changed out of his suit as soon as he'd gotten to his room. A pair of worn jeans and a tee shirt with a pair of sneakers. Though it made him seem a little out of place in this nice hotel, he felt more comfortable like this. Making his way to Arthur's room got him a few stares, but he shrugged them off. Knocking onto the door with the back of his knuckles, there was a pause before the muffled voice came through the door. "…Hold on." Another small silence, and then the door opened. Arthur hadn't changed, but he had gotten rid of his suit-coat, vest, tie, and shoes. This left him in only his white button-up shirt and slacks, his blond hair looking perhaps a little more mussed than it had earlier. "Come in," Arthur offered, standing aside. Glancing over Arthur's shoulder—which the taller nation could easily do, he could see the glass of gin and ice on the room's sitting table.

"Drinking already?" Matthew asked as he stepped inside. The door closed behind him and he heard the Brit give a chuckle.

"The principal sin of Gin is, among others, ruining mothers. Or is it father in this case?" Arthur mused as he walked past his former colony to sit back down at the table. His ice in his glass clinked as he lifted it from the table, raising it to his lips. Matthew frowned as he sat on the corner of the bed, facing Arthur.

"I've never thought of you as my father, nor my brother."

"No, that would be awkward wouldn't it?" Arthur grinned, referring to their history. That is, their physical history. Matthew didn't rise to the jest, not with a blush nor a smile. Arthur sighed, taking another drink.

"You'll always be my mentor, Arthur."

"Oh do stop. You make it sound as if I groomed you." Arthur remarked with a frown. Now Matthew did smile a little, though his indigo eyes were towards the floor.

"Didn't you?"

"Cheeky brat." Arthur chuckled. There was another pause, and Arthur finished his drink. Setting it down with a clank of glass on wood, he stood up. "Didn't you come to comfort me?" Now Matthew looked up with a small frown.

"I don't know."

"Oh? I thought you wanted to make your own decisions." Arthur said with another grin was he stepped over to the Canadian nation.

"I do, of course. I just didn't know how you would feel about all of this."

"So you came to take care of me." Arthur's hand rose, and Matthew closed his eyes as those long fingers swept through his hair, nails over his scalp.

"Perhaps. I thought you might also be angry."

"Why's that?"

"Because I passed a _British _Act of Parliament in _French_." Matthew opened his eyes again to look up at the Englishman as he chuckled.

"_Tsk,_" Arthur clicked his tongue. "That _is _a shame. If you came to comfort me, you're doing a terrible job of it."

"_Haha,_" Matthew laughed, reaching up to take a hold of Arthur's wrist. He pulled his hand down, kissing the palm of it. "Sorry. I only meant to make sure you knew I… wasn't going to be any different, you know? Except if you tell me to change the interior decorating of my house again. Seriously, I love antiques, but they're not the most conventional sometimes."

"Understandable." Arthur smiled wryly.

"But… I'll always keep your room the same. Because you know you'll always have a place in my home, Arthur. Or just a place with me."

"You don't need me anymore."

"That's news to me." Matthew stood up now, and Arthur frowned a little as he had to tilt his chin up to keep eye contact. Matthew knew his mentor hated that, but it was time for Arthur to accept him as he was. Taller, larger, and independent. He bent down then, it was only a small distance between them, and Arthur gave in to the kiss. In fact the older nation pressed his body into it, hands on Matthew's hips. He tasted of gin, but that wasn't anything new. Matthew was still surprised by the reaction to that kiss in specific, pulling back to break it prematurely. "A-are you…?"

"I'm not drunk, you dolt." Arthur said with a frown. "I thought you were going to show me that you needed me?" Matthew finally blushed; taking that statement for all that it was worth. Smiling again, his hands slid down to Arthur's shirt. Fingers were nimble and swift as his French side would allow, ridding Arthur of his shirt in under a minute. His own shirt followed, fluttering haphazardly to the floor. He worked on ridding himself of his shoes clumsily balanced on one leg at a time, and Arthur laughed as he climbed onto the bed. The Englishman moved up to the head of the bed, sitting up and leaning back on his elbows. He chuckled as Matthew hastily removed his pants, hesitating at his boxers. It wasn't fair really; they were both actually quite reserved individuals. But Arthur had pre-gamed, gotten a bit of alcohol in him. Still, feeling challenged, Matthew slid his boxers from his hips quickly.

He climbed onto the bed with grace, those eyes of his darker and almost bluer in this lighting. He stopped on his knees, between Arthur's parted legs. As he bent for a kiss, Arthur reached up to slide his fingers up into that hair again, pulling him into it with his hand on the back of Matthew's head. They both gave a groan into it, and Matthew used his right hand to work on undoing Arthur's pants while he rested his weight on the left. The kiss broke for breath as he succeeded in this task, sharing pated breath as they met each other's half-closed eyes. Matthew slid his hand down into those open pants to place his palm against Arthur's half-hard length, rubbing slowly but firmly. Arthur shuddered, clenching his jaw as his eyes closed. "_I'm not leaving… I just want to stand on my own…_" Matthew murmured, lips brushing Arthur's neck as his breath flowed over that slightly damp skin.

"_We'll see._" Arthur answered as he opened his eyes, one hand rising to Matthew's shoulder.

"_I'll prove I can do it._"

"_Like this_?"

"_No,_" Matthew laughed. "_This is a different thing I need._" Pulling his hand back from that now full arousal, he went to tug down Arthur's pants.

"You'll need what's in the right pocket, love." Arthur said with a grin, and Matthew reached into it. He found a small tube there, pulling it out with a smile.

"I would say this was presumptuous, but under the current circumstance…"

"Belt up and finish what you started, Matthew." Arthur muttered with a bit of a blush. Of course he counted on he and Matthew having sex, why wouldn't he? It was more than comforting to Matthew however, as it meant that Arthur truly wasn't as angry or hurt as he had feared. He was trusted, and loved, Arthur wouldn't turn his bitter mumblings against Matt as he did with Alfred. Obeying this request, Matthew set the tube aside to pull those pants from Arthur's long legs. Pants and boxers joined the rest of the clothing littering the floor, and Matthew came down between those thighs to meet those waiting lips. Both groaned into the kiss when Arthur's hand slipped between them to wrap his hand around both their arousals, stroking slowly. Matthew's hips shifted a bit, anxious to continue and yet not wanting this to end so quickly. Arthur made that decision for him, pressing another kiss to those soft lips. "_Looks like we're both ready._"

At that, Matthew pulled back as was suggested; giving a sound of loss once all contact was taken from his eager arousal. He pacified himself with the knowledge that soon he would get to feel much better than a hand as he lifted the small tube of lubricant. He popped the cap, spreading it over his fingers. One, two, three, the process was somewhat of a routine, and yet it never seemed to get old. There was just something _intimate _about this step that called for not being skipped even if the both of them were dying for the main event. Fingers could curl; they could press and reach places much easier than any other body part could. And Matthew did just that, causing Arthur's hips to rise from the bed on several occasions as he brushed his prostate with his searching fingers. But the Englishman was persistent, grasping Matthew's shoulders until his nails bit in a little. "_Matthew, let's… do this, shall we_?"

Of course, Matthew could understand. On the outside it looked like sex was what they needed. And it was true that being this close, this intimate, this _vulnerable _was a powerful sensation. It wasn't what they really needed though, it was just as close as they could get. The only time you were never truly alone, when you were joined with another person. You could lay together tightly, naked, limbs all tangled and under the blankets hiding from the world—but you were still your own. For a human this was a pity, for a nation a curse. They couldn't make the choice to be like this all the time, there was an ocean between them. So when they were together they simply wanted to meet in the best way they knew how.

If Arthur had taught Matthew many things, but to not be passive wasn't one of them. In fact he may have even contributed to that, expecting his 'good son' to obey however he could. But in this, Arthur had taught Matthew the confidence and self-pride that he lacked elsewhere. This Matthew could do, _this, _Arthur had chosen Matthew over Alfred for. They both parted their lips for the initial intake of breath when Matthew began to slide into his long time mentor. Arthur's heels pressed into the back of Matthew's thighs, his hands on his shoulders. Only when their skin met, and Matt had gone as deep as he could go did that expression change. _Satisfied, _but not yet sated. That face was flushed with booze and pleasure, though Matthew's might be twice as red. He wasn't the good boy receiving a pat on the head like this—he was a _man. _For the first time he could take Arthur as an equal ally, and not as dependant.

The hotel bed wasn't exactly equipped to deal with the force of two desperate nations on top of it. Sturdy as it was, it was tapping the wall with about every other heavy thrust. Matthew could keep his voice reserved, low and breathy moans passing his lips now and then. But Arthur, well he was known for his love of this—gentleman or no! His voice rose a bit louder, especially whenever Matthew managed to strike just right, brushing the Englishman's prostate whenever he came back in for another _smack _of damp flesh. Arthur kept one hand at Matthew's shoulder while the other was up above his head, pressing on the headboard to keep himself from sliding. When Matthew freed his right have to take up stroking his lover, Arthur let his eyes close, biting his lower lip and letting his nails dig into that pale shoulder again. Even his _toes _curled as he cried out moments later, shuddering as he spilled his seed over his own stomach, and Matthew's hand.

Getting off on your lover's pleasure instead of your own seemed to be something you'd say in a cliché, but anyone who really loved someone will tell you that it's true. Taking your own pleasure was fun, but knowing that you had brought the utmost pleasure to one you love was an even greater feeling than the self search for pleasure. However now that Arthur had come, Matthew did redouble his efforts to reach his own climax. His thrusts became a bit faster, harder, and even the spent Englishman gave a satisfied groan at that. "_You—you were-nnh—holding out on me…_" Arthur accused, and Matthew only bit his lip and bowed his head as he felt his body tightening. And when it snapped he cried out, a clear and beautiful voice, letting Arthur pull him down by his shoulders as his climax overtook him.

They lay like that for a while afterwards, letting the cool air tingle at their sweat-damp skin. Perhaps if they'd been under the blankets, they could have gone to sleep like this. Neither of them seemed willing to let go just yet, to remove that connection between them. Red lines across oceans made of satellite telephone lines were just not enough. The only true solace from being alone was right here between them.


End file.
